


Witcher Biology

by xxenjoy



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: First Time, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Rumours, pretty much pwp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:35:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24210691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxenjoy/pseuds/xxenjoy
Summary: Jaskier hears a particularly absurd rumour about Witchers and asks Geralt about it. V loosely based on a quest from The Witcher, where you have to recover Dandelion's lost lute.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 51
Kudos: 980





	Witcher Biology

The inn was Jaskier's idea. He had insisted on staying so Geralt could relax because there isn't a bathhouse in town and after a good week on the road, Geralt could use a break. At first, he had been thankful for the thought, but now he's not so sure. 

Jaskier is now the only one doing any relaxing while Geralt is still on edge watching him and ensuring he doesn't get himself into any trouble. He's very drunk and while the young men and women drinking with him think he's charming, Geralt doesn't share their amusement. They won't be the ones fending off angry relatives if he climbs into the wrong bed tonight. 

Then, out of nowhere, Jaskier catches his eye over the crowd and Geralt very nearly groans out loud as Jaskier slips away from his admirers to join him in the corner. Geralt prefers drinking alone, but as soon as Jaskier spots him, a dozen heads turn in his direction and he scowls at them. The gesture is enough for most of them to return to their own business, but a few are curious and Geralt has learned the hard way that nothing deters Jaskier anymore. 

He saunters over with a lopsided grin and slides conspicuously into Geralt's lap. If he wasn't accustomed to this kind of behaviour while Jaskier was drunk, Geralt might push him off and return to drinking alone. But tonight, Jaskier gets his arms around his neck and the way his thumb rubs against the back of his neck is actually kind of... nice.

"One of those lovely ladies told me a Witcher's touch is special," Jaskier hums, "tingly. Is that true, Geralt?"

"You're sitting in my lap, Jaskier, you tell me."

He leans in close enough that Geralt can feel his breath against his cheek. "That's not what I mean and you know it."

"Well," Geralt asks, "why don't you find out for yourself?" Jaskier quite nearly falls backward onto the floor and Geralt has to bring an arm up around his waist to keep him steady.

"Really?" he chokes and Geralt scoffs.

"No. Go back to your friends, Jaskier. I'm going to bed." 

He slides Jaskier out of his lap and before he has a chance to say anything else, Geralt slips out through the crowd, so Jaskier goes back to his friends to announce his findings are, sadly, inconclusive. When Geralt gets up to their room, he spends what can only be described as an embarrassing amount of time trying to figure out how he could make his touch tingle.

It’s not that he really _cares_ , he’s heard much more absurd and, frankly, much more realistic rumours about Witchers in the past, but something about this one gets to him. Maybe it’s because Jaskier believed it or maybe it’s because it’s inherently sexual but a part of him wants to know where it stems from. 

An hour of messing around with various signs tells him the accusation is baseless.

Later that night, when all experimentation is over and Geralt is just about to turn in for real, there's a knock on the door. Expecting Jaskier, too drunk to get the door open himself, Geralt sighs and pushes himself up from the bed. He's in no mood to deal with a drunk and clingy bard and he considers going down to get a second room when he opens the door to find not Jaskier, but the innkeeper.

"We, er, have a situation of sorts downstairs," the man mumbles, wringing his hands at the sight of Geralt's scarred chest. Geralt grunts and reaches for his sword instinctively, expecting the worst where Jaskier is concerned. "I- I don't think you'll be needing that," he says, eyes wide, but Geralt just raises an eyebrow at him and brushes past. 

He knows exactly what sort of situation they have downstairs and he's learned sometimes the sight of a sword alone is enough to diffuse a problem. 

As expected, Jaskier does seem to be in the middle of it with some Lord or other, currently pressed up against a beam and rambling to defend himself. Geralt sighs. At least the sword doesn't seem to be necessary; they're both fairly drunk and Geralt could easily dodge whatever ill-considered attack he might face. 

He crosses over to them scowling at Jaskier's grin and doesn't wait long enough to hear an explanation. He's tired and he's spent more than enough time thinking about Jaskier and _tingling_ tonight and now his sleep has been interrupted. Without saying a word, he pushes between the two of them and picks Jaskier up off the floor, slinging him over his shoulder. 

The only protest he gets is a soft _oof_ when Jaskier's chest hits his shoulder. The lord stares after them, blinking like he can't quite believe what he's seeing. 

"See," Jaskier shouts belatedly, already halfway across the bar, "I told you." Geralt just rolls his eyes and carries him up to bed.

In their room, Geralt lets him down, pressing a hand to his shoulder to steady him as Jaskier adjusts to being back on his feet. Geralt helps him out his clothes, now stinking like liquor and Jaskier grins as his hands brush against bare skin.

"You know," he hums, "I do feel a little tingly." 

"That's the vodka."

Geralt gets him out of the rest of his clothes, tossing them into a corner to be taken and washed, then guides him to bed. Jaskier flops on top of the blankets, pulls a pillow up under his face, and falls asleep almost instantly, much to Geralt's relief. 

Geralt sits up for a little while, adding an extra log to the fire and pulling a blanket over Jaskier before laying his own blanket down on the floor. Drunk Jaskier is a restless sleeper and Geralt is exhausted; he's slept in much less comfortable places than this before. He doesn’t mind sleeping on the floor if it means a peaceful sleep. 

In the morning, Geralt packs their things while Jaskier sits in bed and moans about his head. It takes all of Geralt's strength not to remind him that if he didn't drink so much, he wouldn't feel so awful in the morning, but he's tired and stiff from sleeping on the floor, and he doesn't want an argument this morning.

When they head out to collect Roach, Geralt is starting to feel better. He's still exhausted, but his limbs are loosening a little and the fresh air is a welcome respite after smelling alcohol all night. Just as he's saddling Roach, though, the same lord from the night before comes out, sauntering past and glaring daggers at Jaskier. Despite his earlier complaints, Jaskier seems to be well enough to smirk and wink at the man and Geralt takes a deep breath and bites his tongue. 

"Your friend from last night?" he asks.

"I'd hardly call him a friend."

"Mm."

"Who is he?" Jaskier says, unprompted. "He's the cad who told me Witchers make terrible lovers." Geralt stiffens for a moment when he realizes Jaskier was arguing in his defence last night, but he replies quickly to cover it up.

"I don't recall asking."

"And it's not like he'd know, anyway,” he continues, oblivious to Geralt’s disinterest. “Men like him like to throw their words around and make up all sorts of stories about things they know nothing about." Geralt turns and lifts an eyebrow at him, but Jaskier misses the irony. 

"And you would," he deadpans. 

"I know better than _him_ ," Jaskier says, smug. And for a second Geralt worries that he does and he's afraid to ask who Jaskier may have run into along the road. "I have you," he clarifies and Geralt's body relaxes. 

It’s a little worrying, having not realized how he’d tensed up at the mere thought of Jaskier with another Witcher, but Geralt ignores that for the time being. He takes Roach's reins in one hand and turns away, heading west. Jaskier trots obediently behind him. 

"Jaskier," Geralt says, "last night you asked me if a Witcher's touch is _tingly_. You don't know shit."

Rumours spread about Witchers and _tingling_ and Geralt suspects Jaskier is the one to blame. They've been in Temeria for a week with no plans yet to move on and Geralt knows he's bored, so it seems likely that he’s responsible. But he’s not the one dealing with the fallout of the whole fiasco. The dark looks and nervous glances are gone, replaced with curiosity or worse. 

It’s not that Geralt doesn’t appreciate the change of pace, but he doesn’t like being fawned over either. He isn’t some sort of novelty for people to seduce and be done with. For the most part, he’s adjusted well enough to ignoring villagers and this isn’t much different than dodging insults and curses. 

Jaskier, on the other hand, seems to have realized he’s made a mistake. 

They're in Mirthe and Geralt had thought he was doing a good enough job making it obvious that he didn't want company. He’s sitting in the corner, as usual, facing away from the crowd and for good measure, he’s even got his hood up to hide his face. None of it is enough to deter the more determined of the townsfolk. The woman who approaches now is dark-haired and objectively beautiful but Geralt can already tell she's going to be a pain. 

"So," she starts and Geralt barely resists rolling his eyes. "I've heard a thing or two about Witchers, care to show me if they're true." Gods, they’re not even trying for subtlety anymore. 

"He doesn't," Jaskier interrupts, slipping between the two of them and draping himself over Geralt's lap. He wraps an arm around Geralt's neck, pressing up too close and for the first time, Geralt is actually relieved to have him there. He's even more relieved when the woman scoffs at Jaskier, narrowing her eyes before stalking away like she’s lost out on something. 

Normally, Geralt would push Jaskier away at this point, but he's thankful for not having to talk to anyone else about what he can or can't do during sex, so he lets him stay. And he likes it if he's honest. He likes the weight of having a lapful of bard and he likes the way Jaskier's fingers twist in the short hair at the back of his neck. And when he leans in close enough that Geralt can smell the wine on his breath, he nearly closes the distance between them to taste it. Which is worrying, at best.

Jaskier doesn't share any of his inhibitions and he pushes the boundaries whenever he gets the chance. Normally Geralt doesn't put up with his theatrics, but tonight he likes being rescued and he wants to keep Jaskier exactly where he is. Because if Jaskier is in his lap, no one else will bother him. Or at least that’s what he tells himself. It definitely has nothing to do with the way Jaskier’s fingertips press into the base of his skull.

Apparently, having someone in your lap isn’t a strong enough deterrent for some of the other patrons, and Geralt still finds himself being propositioned. But Jaskier does the talking for him, saving Geralt the irritation, so when Jaskier pushes further and pretends to know all sorts of things about Geralt and his touches, Geralt doesn't stop him. He cooperates even. And he's expecting it all to be utter bullshit about glowing eyes and tingling, but Jaskier shuts that down pretty quickly, much to Geralt's amusement. 

"Don't be ridiculous," he scoffs, stroking Geralt's hair. "He's _human_ , he's just a person. He doesn't glow or vibrate. Although-" he flashes a cheeky grin in Geralt’s direction and Geralt can’t even bring himself to roll his eyes. 

One of the more skeptical people in their audience looks to him for affirmation and Geralt just shrugs. She purses her lips, and Jaskier pulls back to look at Geralt. He looks absolutely delighted and the glimmer of joy in his eyes is intoxicating, Geralt can't help but grin back at him. 

Jaskier leans in like no one else is in the room, breathing against his ear. Geralt isn't sure if it's part of the act or not, but when Jaskier whispers, " _take me upstairs_ ," he isn't about to risk it. He shifts Jaskier so he's straddling his thighs and there's a rolling heat that creeps up his chest. When Jaskier bends back, effectively shooing away the gathered patrons, Geralt realizes he's fucked either way.

Mostly, he hopes it’s a part of the act and Jaskier will drop it as soon as they’re alone in their room. But another part of him doesn’t want it to be. 

He's an idiot for ever having let Jaskier traipse along after him, to begin with, but now he's stuck with him. And now, Jaskier has done something to him and he's got all these feelings. And now, right this moment, Geralt is going to take him upstairs and if that’s what Jaskier wants, he’s going to fuck him.

When he looks down at him, Jaskier's got a smug little smirk on his face and Geralt wants to kiss it away. He hauls Jaskier up into his arms and he's the one feeling tingly as Jaskier gives him a seductive little wink and wraps his arms tighter around Geralt's neck. If they don’t get out of here soon, Geralt is going to do something stupid in front of a lot of people. 

Geralt makes his way out of the crowded inn and gets Jaskier upstairs to their room. Jaskier laughs as they stop at the door and when Geralt gives him a funny look, he slides a hand down the side of his face. 

"They really bought that, huh?" Jaskier grins at him and Geralt scowls. He thought he knew Jaskier better than that.

"Hmm." He shifts Jaskier to hold him with one arm to unlock the door and Jaskier practically purrs. 

"Fuck, you're strong."

"Hmm."

"It's a little bit sexy." Jaskier bites his lip and Geralt has to look away from him. 

"And you're a little bit drunk."

Jaskier leans in again, letting his lips brush against Geralt's cheek. "Mm, I'm not. But you are sexy." He leans back, looking at him and Geralt realizes he's going to do this whether it's a good idea or not. Probably not. He walks into the room and twists his fingers in Jaskier's shirt, hauling him forward to kiss him. 

Jaskier responds immediately, sliding his hands into Geralt's hair and holding him against him. Geralt wasn't expecting this kind of response and it catches him off guard, but he shuts the door behind them and carries Jaskier to the bed. He feels like he's burning up and suddenly he's afraid of doing the wrong thing and when he presses Jaskier into the bed, his movements are automatic and stunted. 

He shouldn't do this. Jaskier is his only real friend and the last time he had sex with a friend it got complicated. He holds back, but Jaskier isn't having it and he stops, pushing Geralt up off of him. 

"What's wrong?" he asks, "I thought you wanted this?" He looks anxious like he’s the one to blame here, and Geralt doesn't know what to say. 

He does want him. He wants him much more than he's ever wanted anyone, more than he _should_ want anyone. But he's a Witcher and Jaskier is a poet, a romantic and there's no romance in what Geralt does. He just got carried away tonight, wrapped up in the way Jaskier treated him like a regular person, the way he _defended_ him. It felt good for once to feel normal, even for a fleeting moment. But he knows he isn't and he knows he can't have things like this that seem so common to others. Rarely does Geralt feel a gentle touch without paying and even then, it's timid at best. 

But not Jaskier. Even after Geralt has failed to respond to him, Jaskier runs his hands up his arms, rubbing soothing circles into his skin. Geralt doesn't deserve him, but Jaskier doesn't seem to care.

"I can't," he says finally and Jaskier looks at him like he's considering it. 

"Do this?” he asks, “Or want it?" Geralt doesn't meet his eyes. "Because you are allowed to want things, and I promise you darling that if this is what you want, you absolutely can have it." Jaskier reaches up for him, pulling Geralt down against him and rolling him onto his back. Geralt says nothing, just looks up at him. Jaskier isn't deterred.

"You can tell me," he whispers, shifting onto his knees so he can lean over Geralt. "We're friends, right?"

"Hmm."

"Or is that the problem? Because let me tell you, Geralt, if you're worried about ruining this friendship, you won't. This is a terrible friendship and fucking me right now could only improve it." He slides his hands up Geralt's stomach tangling in the fabric of his tunic and tugging it up. 

" _Jaskier_."

"Tell me you don't want me and I'll leave you to sleep, but I think you do. I think you’re making up rules for yourself again." Geralt grunts at him but gives no other response and Jaskier smiles softly. "Charming as always, darling, but I'm going to need you to use your words."

"I don't want to fuck this up," Geralt rumbles, turning to look at the wall. "You're all I have."

"And I'm not going anywhere. If I recall, you've fucked up pretty badly before and yet, here we are." Jaskier leans down next to his ear, breathing softly. "I'm yours, love, tingly or not." He presses his lips to the bolt of Geralt's jaw, leaving sloppy kisses down to his chin. "Do you want me, Witcher?"

Geralt looks up into bright, honest eyes and _gods_ does he want him. It feels unreal that he could even have the chance, but Jaskier's hands are soft against him, brushing the strip of skin between his trousers and his dishevelled shirt. 

"Yes," he breathes and Jaskier tips his chin up, smiling before pressing their lips together firmly. He's soft still, but his enthusiasm bleeds through in the fumbling of his fingers and the desperate groan that slips from his lips. 

Jaskier's fingers slip down, popping each button on Geralt's trousers with intent. He pushes them open and Geralt's breath catches in his chest, hips rising with the motion of Jaskier's fingers as he strokes down the length of his cock. Jaskier's mouth slides away from his own, pressing open-mouthed kisses down his neck and chest, down to the vee of Geralt's hips. When he reaches the head of his cock, jutting out from his trousers, Jaskier noses at him, humming softly. 

" _Jas_ ," he huffs and Jaskier doesn't wait any longer, taking the head of his cock between his lips and slowly sliding down to the base. Geralt doesn't breathe as Jaskier settles. His cock is pressed right to the back of his throat and he knows Jaskier can't keep this up for long but it feels incredible. It's too good and Geralt has to steady himself to keep from fucking into his mouth. 

He draws back and Jaskier follows, slipping up to the head again and running his tongue around it before sinking back down. His head bobs and Geralt has to keep his eyes off him because he doesn't think he'll be able to hold it together if he can see what he’s doing. Jaskier sinks low and Geralt's hand thrusts into his hair, tugging lightly and drawing a stifled moan from Jaskier's lips. 

"You like that?" he asks, curious. Jaskier presses up into the touch, flicking his eyes up to meet Geralt's and he’s a stunning sight, cheeks flushed, lips stretched wide around the girth of his cock. 

Jaskier pulls up, running his tongue along the slit of Geralt's cock and back around the head. Out of sight, he slips a hand beneath himself and Geralt can hear the rustling of fabric, the metal clink of claps coming undone. Jaskier's hand slips around himself and Geralt only just refrains from pushing him over and touching him himself, but Jaskier's tongue runs along the underside of his cock, sufficiently subduing him.

He slips a hand into Jaskier’s hair as Jaskier’s tongue works up the length of his cock, tugging lightly. Jaskier groans around him and Geralt tugs again, just lightly, but Jaskier gets the message. 

He pulls up off his cock, sucking hard at the head and winding his tongue around him once more as he lifts his head. Geralt reaches out, tugging Jaskier up over him and he slides his hands down his back, over the swell off his ass. He squeezes just slightly, shifting his hips so his cock slides up against Jaskier's, hot and painfully hard. 

He slides both hands into Jaskier's hair, pulling him into a hungry kiss and rocking up against him. The friction is exactly what he needs and he thrusts lightly, letting the sounds of Jaskier's pleasure wash over him. Jaskier lets out soft, needy moans that get lost amidst the tangle of lips and tongues but they linger long enough. 

Geralt pulls one hand from Jaskier's hair, pushing down his back and beneath his trousers. He traces the line between his cheeks and Jaskier arches against him, pressing into the touch. He's soft and wanting and when Geralt's fingers slip between his cheeks, brushing against his hole, Jaskier groans into his mouth. He draws away, pressing his forehead into Geralt's shoulder.

"Fuck," he breathes and that one single word rips through Geralt like a hot blade. He flips Jaskier onto his back without warning, kneeling above him as he reaches for the hem of Jaskier's trousers. 

Geralt gets him out of them quickly, discarding the clothing without a thought as he reaches for Jaskier's bag. He's always got a selection of oils and right now he's not picky. The bottle he pulls out is tall and thin and a quick nod from Jaskier confirms that it will do the job. Geralt is quick about popping the cork and slicking his fingers. Now that he's got Jaskier like this, he realizes just how badly he’s wanted it and his patience is running thin. 

Moving over, Geralt settles himself next to Jaskier, running his slick fingers down the length of his cock and back behind his balls. He rubs against his hole and Jaskier groans, rolling his head to nip at Geralt's earlobe. Soft moans slip from his lips and Geralt rubs harder, using just enough pressure that he breaches the first ring of muscle. Jaskier whimpers and whines, biting Geralt's ear. 

"More," he breathes and he pushes his hips down, taking Geralt deeper. He clenches around him and Geralt pushes deeper, rubbing up against him. 

Jaskier whimpers as he seeks out that spot and Geralt runs a second finger around his rim before pushing in. He'd spend more time teasing, really working Jaskier up because he'd love to see him undone, writhing in ecstasy, but he doesn't have the patience right now. He thrusts hard and Jaskier groans. One hand flies up to his cock and Girl realizes with a start that Jaskier is wet, precome leaking steadily down his shaft and onto his stomach. 

He can smell him now like the tangy-sweet scent wasn't there before and it makes his head foggy. Jaskier always smells incredible, but right now he's intoxicating and Geralt's whole body reacts to the change.

He watches, awed, as a bead of pre-come gathers and rolls down the head of Jaskier's cock. His fingers thrust quickly fucking him with renewed enthusiasm and Jaskier pushes his cock up, squeezing around the base as he arches off the bed. Geralt isn't sure what possesses him to do it, but he ducks his head taking the head of Jaskier's cock between his lips. 

Sliding low, Geralt presses his nose into the bed of dark curls at the base of his cock, inhaling the scent of him. It's sweat and salt and the musky, spicy scent of lust and _Jaskier_. He smells incredible and his taste is just as good, spreading along the tip of his tongue. 

By the time he gets three fingers into Jaskier, his jaw aches and Jaskier is rambling at him. It's nonsense, but it's filthy and Geralt struggles to keep his composure. His cock aches under him and every word goes through him like lightning, sending a jolt of pleasure straight to his aching cock. He shifts his hips, rutting against the mattress as Jaskier fucks his mouth and he can't take it much longer. 

Jaskier's fingers slip into his hair, tugging his head up and Geralt is met with dark wide eyes before Jaskier sits up and his lips come crashing back against his own. 

" _I want you_ ," he breathes. "Come on darling, I'm ready for your cock and I know you want it." He's right. Geralt is rock hard under him, pressed firmly into the mattress and he does, he wants him so badly. He growls low in his throat, pulling out and reaching for the bottle again. 

He rises up to his knees, dripping oil along the length of his cock and Jaskier watches, suddenly silent. He moves, mirroring Geralt's position and shuffles forward. He runs his fingers along the underside of Geralt's cock. It's a soft, barely-there touch, but Geralt jerks into it with a grunt. 

Jaskier turns toward the wall, bracing himself with one hand against the headboard and reaching back to stroke Geralt with the other. He wraps around him as best he can, tugging Geralt forward and Geralt lets himself be led. He presses against Jaskier's back, dipping to kiss the side of his neck and Jaskier moans softly, dropping his chin forward. 

He presses Geralt's cock against his hole and pushes back against him. Geralt's fingers settle on his hips, fingers digging into his skin and he shuts his eyes. Jaskier is tight and hot around him and his mind is foggy as he presses into him. 

" _Fuck_ ," Jaskier moans, "gods, Geralt, you're fucking huge." Geralt says nothing, but he withdraws a little, to no avail. Jaskier is quick to press back, taking him all the way and Geralt jerks forward, bracing himself on the wall above Jaskier’s shoulders. Jaskier's fingers move, slipping over Geralt's and Geralt covers his hand, tangling their fingers together. 

He rolls his hips, draping himself over Jaskier's back and pressing his nose into Jaskier's hair. He tries to keep a steady pace, but every time, Jaskier is right there wanting him harder, faster, _more_ and Geralt relishes the chance not to have to restrain himself. He fucks him hard, snapping his hips and pushing himself deep and rolling his hips into him. And Jaskier lets him, encourages him and when Geralt pushes his fingers into his hair again, jerking Jaskier back against him, he just moans and grins up at him. 

"Tingly," he breathes and Geralt huffs incredulously, kissing the word from his lips. 

Jaskier pushes his hips back, fully seating himself on Geralt's cock and he leans against his chest. Warm lips press against Geralt’s neck and he groans, slipping his hand down Jaskier's stomach and around his cock. Jaskier thrusts between his fingers and the shaky breath against his neck tells Geralt he's getting close. Which is way more arousing than it should be and Geralt has to steady himself to keep from coming right there. 

He strokes Jaskier quickly, pressing his forefinger under the head and Jaskier whimpers under him. He rocks back onto Geralt's cock and forward into his hand, quick and hard until his hips stutter and he spills over Geralt's hand, rolling his head back on his shoulder. 

Geralt is so caught up in watching him that he forgets about his own orgasm until Jaskier curls an arm around his neck, tugging his hair. There's a familiar pull in his gut and Geralt shoves his hips forward hard, knocking them both forward against the wall. He winds one arm under Jaskier's chest, holding him against him and it only takes a couple of quick thrusts before he's coming. He buries himself deep, hips jerking as he rides out the rush of it and Jaskier rides him through it, slipping his fingers through his hair and whispering soft words of praise. 

He stays there for a moment with his face pressed into Jaskier's neck, pressing soft kisses into his skin. He's breathless and tired, but Jaskier is soft against him and when he hums Geralt can't help but smile to himself. He shifts, dropping to sit with his back against the wall, and he pulls Jaskier into his lap, running his fingers down his thighs. 

"Am I tingly enough for you?" he asks and Jaskier laughs, dropping his head back against his shoulder. 

"I never cared if you were tingly," he breathes, "you're perfect to me however you are." Geralt rolls his eyes, but he winds an arm around Jaskier's stomach and holds him close.


End file.
